Devil May Cry: Retribution
by Freedan the Eternal
Summary: When a mercenary organization begins targeting Devil Hunters all over the world, a global catastrophe like never before seen looms on the horizon. Dante, Trish, Nero, and Lady find themselves at the center of a secret war ready to explode at any moment, but this is only the beginning, as the Hunters find themselves the targets of deadly half-demon assassins like never seen before.
1. Chapter 1

**Devil May Cry:**

**Retribution**

Written by Freedan

**Chapter 1: Guardians of Faith**

"What is your name?"

All his senses screamed. He could taste his own blood, the searing light in his eyes forced him to keep them lidded, and hundreds of wounds covered his body. The room stunk of rotting meat, and he thought he could make out crumpled shapes in the corners, human bones sticking up from the piles.

Whatever they'd injected him with was delaying his healing, or such minor wounds would have barely slowed him down. Seated on a metal chair, his hands were bound around the back by heavy shackles that somehow resisted what strength he had left. He'd tried time and again to snap the chain of the cuffs, incredulous to the fact that somehow they held him. Again, he remembered that burning injection. What was that stuff, if it could suppress his strength, too?

"What is your name?" the voice behind the mirror said again.

Government spooks, or maybe mercenaries. They'd come for him in the night. They knew what they were doing, too, armed with weapons specific to fighting a creature like him. He'd been sloppy, letting them get the drop on him. What the government suddenly wanted with a mixed blood like him.

"What is your name?" the voice said again, its tone exactly the same, never shifting, perfectly emotionless.

"My name…" he whispered, "My name is…"

* * *

"…Dante."

The receptionist's eyes went wide as he laid the black pistol on the counter in front of her, leaning over it to conceal it to other eyes.

"Now don't scream, miss," the tall man in the red coat said, "I don't want to hurt you. Just take a step back, away from the alarm button, please."

There was a click as he switched off the safety on the pistol, and swallowing hard, she took a step back.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

"Don't worry, it's nothing from you," the man, Dante, said, "Your employers are holding a friend of mine here against his will. I'm here to get him. You just stay quiet, do what I say, and no one has to get hurt."

"I don't know where he is," she said.

"That's okay, I already do," Dante said, "And another friend of mine will be bringing him down shortly."

* * *

"Nero," the voice behind the mirror said, "You were present when the Hellgate opened six months ago, unleashing demons on your home city. We want the plans for the construction of the gates that were used by your order."

"Destroyed, along with the one who built them," Nero said.

"We don't believe even your order would be so foolish as to destroy something so valuable," said the voice, "Now I'm going to ask you again, where are the plans?"

"Fuck you," Nero said.

"Perhaps you need more incentive," said the voice, "You should know, we have Kyrie in our custody."

"What…" Nero looked up, toward the mirror, squinting against the bright glaring lights, "If you hurt her…"

"I'm sure you'll do something quite terrible," said the voice, "Your threats are meaningless at this point. We have you completely powerless."

"And I've got you," said a feminine voice from behind the mirror.

There were sounds of a struggle, followed by several grunts of pain, and then silence fell across the room, only to suddenly be shattered with the mirror as a metal folding chair came through the glass from the other side, showering shards all around Nero. The dark room on the other side held several shadowed shapes, slumped over a pair of desks.

The only figure left standing jumped onto the desk directly behind where the mirror had been, and then leaped out through the hole, into the light of the room. The blonde woman dressed in an expensive looking business suit, carrying a guitar case in one hand.

"You…" Nero said as she sat the case down.

"You're looking beat up, kid," Trish said, moving around behind the chair. She grasped his wrists and pulled outward, easily snapping the metal chain of the cuffs. "Looks like they managed to get you with that stuff they tried to inject Dante with."

"He was attacked too?" Nero asked, pulling his arms around in front of himself, "Was he captured?"

"No," Trish said, "But the Devil May Cry office is a ruin, and there are likely a bunch of them poking through it after the Devil Arms we didn't get out."

"Wait," Nero said as Trish pulled him to his feet, "Kyrie. They said they have Kyrie. We can't leave without her."

"She's not here," Trish said, "They took her somewhere else. Now come on, our ride is waiting, and it's only a matter of time before someone behind the cameras recognizes him."

"What?" Nero said as she picked up the guitar case and walked toward the door, "You think they're just going to let us walk out?"

"Of course not," Trish said, "But the further we are before they start shooting, the better."

She pulled a small plastic card from the breast pocket of her suit, and slid it through the reader by the door. The machine dinged, and the light turned green, the door sliding open almost silently. She turned back to him, returning the card to her pocket, and this time pulling out a pair of dark sunglasses. "You coming?" she asked as she put them on.

Nero was silent a moment, glancing back through the broken mirror at the unconscious bodies on the other side. "You're absolutely sure Kyrie isn't here?" he asked.

"Yes," Trish said, "I knew you'd be worried, so I already have what Devil Hunters are still on the network keeping watch for her."

"Network?" Nero asked.

Trish smiled. "You're no Devil Hunter, kid. There's a lot more involved than wearing a red coat and stabbing ugly things. Let's save the whole story for when we're out of here."

* * *

By this point, the holdup in the lobby had a very different look to it, as Dante leaned on the counter and the receptionist, while keeping her hands in sight, leaned close as well, smiling, a result of the conversation steering from the gun under his arm to first questions for her, and then about him, and it even growing flirtatious.

"So you play?" she asked, indicating the guitar case at his feet.

"Oh, a bit," Dante said, "That's the real dream, you know? Maybe someday I'll be able to play full time and give this kind of stuff," he paused and tapped the gun with his finger, "up entirely."

"I used to date a musician," she said, somewhat wistfully, "Best part was just listening while he sat on the couch, strumming out different tunes. Problem was, he never got any of them in clubs, and was singing covers all the time."

"Oh, a real poseur, huh?" Dante asked.

"Yes, he…" she stopped suddenly, looking up past Dante, her smile disappearing as he heard the heavy boots on the floor behind him.

"Sir, we need you to come with us," said a heavy voice.

Without looking, Dante was sure there were two of them, not that it mattered. "Well, I don't want to go with you," Dante said, "So what now?"

"Our employer wishes to speak with you," said the thug, and Dante felt something hard pressed into his back. A pistol, no doubt. And this poor sap probably didn't know it didn't have nearly enough rounds in it to kill Dante.

"Too bad for him," Dante said, "Now a word of advice before you go any further. Your absolute best hope to use that gun is to fire every single round at my crotch, throw the empty gun at me, then run for your life."

"Look smartass, you're coming with us," said the second thug, and grabbed Dante's shoulder.

The receptionist jumped back with a scream. Almost faster than the eye could follow, Dante reached across, spun out form under the man's grasp, and with his other hand, struck upward, into the thug's elbow. There was an audible crack as his elbow bent backward from the blow and he staggered back, falling on the floor. Without stopping his motion, Dante snatched the other thug's wrist, pushing the gun upward, a single round firing off into the ceiling, followed by this thug's scream as he staggered away from Dante, clutching his crushed wrist. By this point, more screams were beginning as what people were in the lobby ran for the door, and the camera monitors were calling for more security to go to the lobby.

Dante had the gun, and hit the release, dropping the loaded clip onto the floor with a clatter. He then ejected the remaining loaded round before tossing the pistol toward the feet of the first guard.

"Don't touch the coat," Dante said, brushing off his shoulder, "Real leather isn't cheap anymore."

There was a click behind him, causing him to turn and see the receptionist pointing his own gun toward him. "Aw, baby, we had such a good start," he said, "Why you got to go and ruin it like that?"

There was a "bong" sound to his right, and the elevator doors started to open. The receptionist turned just slightly toward it, and it was enough, Dante snatched the gun from her hand, spinning it on one finger, straight into his own grip, leveling the barrel toward her as the doors finished opening.

Trish and Nero stepped out of the elevator and saw him holding the gun on the receptionist, and the two security guards behind him. Trish sighed at the sight. "I thought we were trying to be subtle," she said.

"What?" Dante asked, "This is subtle. The alarm hasn't sounded yet."

Two doors on either side of the lobby slammed open and a heavily armed security team, twenty men in full body armor and wielding assault rifles, charged out, lining up in front of the main door, leveling their weapons toward them.

"Drop the gun and get down on your knees!" said one of them.

The receptionist dove under her desk as Dante looked back over his shoulder. "Okay," he said, turning around slowly, "Guess we do this the hard way."

Dante lifted one foot and stomped on the guitar case, which fell open, spilling out the massive white blade known as Rebellion, which Dante scooped up effortlessly with one hand, spun it across his fingers, and lifted it over his shoulder, sliding the guard into place in the leather strap across the back of his shoulders.

With another sigh, Trish dropped her caste, popping it open and picking up its contents. "Take this and this," Trish said, pushing a shotgun and pack of shells into Nero's hands, "It's already loaded."

"About time," he growled, switching the safety off and tucking the box of shells into his belt.

"Don't shoot yet," Trish said, picking up the second object from the case, which was a six shell rotary grenade launcher.

"Last warning!" shouted the guard, "Drop your weapons or we will open fire!"

"Let's rock, baby!" Dante shouted, and drew his second gun from his coat, a white mate to the black gun, and aimed up, firing both weapons rapidly into the glass entryway above the guards. In the next instant, they found glass raining down on their heads.

The rifles opened up, a hail of bullets raining on the trio. Nero managed to get a single shot off from his shotgun, knocking one of the guards onto his back, before the bullets tore into him. He'd been shot plenty of times before. Stabbed a lot, too. And it had never hurt this badly. Nero cried out as he fell onto his back, his blood practically pouring onto the floor.

Trish was unmoved as the bullets cut into her, and fired three shots from the grenade launcher, at different points of the room. The guards fell back, swearing loudly. But an instant later, the grenades were revealed to be nonlethal as white smoke poured from them, rapidly obscuring everyone's sight, and soon the entire room was filled with smoke.

Bullets continued to fly as Dante rushed over to Trish and Nero, splashes of his own blood seemingly inconsequential as beestings. "What's wrong, kid?" he asked.

"I don't know," Nero groaned, "They injected me with something, and everything's been wrong since."

"Injected?" Dante asked, looking at Trish.

"No idea," Trish said, loading more rounds in the grenade launcher, "Carry him, then. I'll clear the road."

"Now don't get the wrong idea from this, kid," Dante said, tucking his guns away and scooping Nero up around his shoulders and legs, "You're not exactly my kind of damsel in distress."

"Well, if you expect me to say 'my hero,' you're in for a disappointment," Nero growled.

"Close your eyes, count to five, and run," Trish said, and fired three more grenades into the smoke.

The dull thump followed by his ears ringing with no other sound told Nero she had fired flash bangs. Nero felt himself shaking as Dante ran, and when he opened his eye, found they had crashed right through the locked from doors and into the street beyond. His ears were still ringing, and he could only assume the others were too. They ran straight for a red convertible car parked on the other side of the street. Dante sat Nero in the passenger seat as Trish leaped over the side and into the driver's seat. Nero's hearing was only beginning to recover as she started the engine. Dante jumped across the hood to a parked motorcycle, climbing onto its seat. That was a strange choice for a chase, a heavy beast with high handlebars, but Dante kicked it into life.

His hearing was definitely coming back, and he looked over his shoulder at the sound of sirens.

"Cops," Trish muttered, shifting the car into gear, "Of course they called the cops."

"Give me a gun," Nero growled.

"Forget it," Trish said, pulling out onto the road and revving the motor as the car rapidly accelerated, "These guys aren't the enemy. Same with the guards inside. They're just doing their jobs. But we'll get the ones behind all this, just wait and see."

Nero was still in agony. He wasn't used to feeling pain from wounds for this long, or seeing this much of his own blood. But he tried to stay focused, seeing Dante riding ahead of them. "So who the hell were those people?" he asked, "What do they want with me and Dante?"

"It's not just you, kid," Trish said, "Devil Hunters all over the world are disappearing or ending up dead. If they were all attacked by these people, then it's this so called Guardians of Faith behind it. Their public face is a security firm that hires out to corporations and the like. In truth, they're privately owned mercenaries, and an army capable of rivaling any of the world superpowers."

"But I'm not a Devil Hunter!" Nero said, looking back at the pursuing police, "What do they want from me?"

"If I had to guess, they're after two things," Trish said, steering around a corner and squalling all four tires as she did before straightening the car back out, "Knowledge of the Hellgates, and Devil Arms, both of which Devil Hunters have more than anyone else."

Nero was interrupted as the buildings to their right suddenly exploded outward, causing Trish and he to both look up. "One of those things," Trish muttered, fishing in another pocket of her suit.

Nero had seen nothing like it before. Like a great flying centipede, it must have measured a good forty feet in length, and he could see electricity crackling around its body.

Trish fished a small object from her pocket, and lifted it up to her left ear. "Dante, you see our new friend?" she asked, making Nero realize it was an earpiece, "Yes, I see it, coming up on the right. Got it, I'll circle the garage once. Don't be late."

Dante suddenly pulled ahead of them, and Nero realized the bike was actually glowing. Suddenly he swerved into the oncoming lane, raising the front wheel and hit the hood of an oncoming car. What followed next, Nero would never have believed if he didn't see it himself. Instead of being destroyed by the much larger vehicle, the bike launched off it like a ramp, flying into the air as if propelled by a rocket.

"You gotta be shitting me…" Nero said.

"It's not the bike, if that's what you're thinking," Trish said, and smiled at him, "Dante says you've got a long way to go. Don't worry, when you really learn how to control that Devil Trigger of yours, you'll be amazed what you're capable of."

Dante landed on the fifth level of the parking garage, bringing the back to a stop about a hundred feet in, turning back and seeing the great worm. "Trish, you better be watching this," he said, and gave it the gas. The tire squealed and smoked as he swung the bike back around, and shot off like a rocket back the way he came. Devil energy had a way of affecting the world around it, and as Dante relaxed his grip on his, allowing more and more to permeate around him, the bike went faster and faster, until he jerked up on the bars, launching it into the air over the cement barrier.

Red lightning flashed as he relaxed his grip entirely, allowing the full Devil Trigger transformation, changing his body into that of a demon, even his clothing and coat transforming into a far more regal appearance, even as his face became that of a monster, and his hair, normally hanging almost lazily down, spiked upward, sharp and rigid.

He climbed up, putting both his feet on the bike's seat, as the worm turned up toward him, seeing him flying through the air, and its great jaws opened wide. With a grunt of effort, Dante kicked downward, sending the bike flying downward, directly into the creature's mouth.

"Jackpot," Dante said, aiming both his guns down, and firing repeatedly at the bike, the bullets charged with red lightning, the bike exploding, and the monster's head vanishing instantly. The rest of it began to break apart, ashes falling down across the street below.

Below, Trish swerved around a corner, tires screaming. Time was up, and she shifted gears, putting the gas on the floor, rocketing away from the police sirens. A moment later, Dante suddenly fell from the sky, landing in the back seat.

"You two are my witnesses," he said, leaning over the seat between them, "Lady owes me two grand next time we see her."

When Nero looked at her questioningly, Trish shook her head. "He was playing some stupid video game where a ninja killed a forty foot worm with a motorcycle, and commented that he could do it. Lady bet he couldn't, and they actually put a wager on it. At least for once it's in his favor."

"I told her I could do it," Dante said, lounging in the back seat, "Need the money anyway. All this shooting ruined another coat."

"All right, let's lose the police and ditch this car," Trish said.

* * *

_Two days earlier…_

"Oh yeah… Right there… Just like that… Yeah, baby…"

The front door of the Devil May Cry office opened, Trish stepping inside with several bags on her arms. She slowly removed her sunglasses as she looked over at Dante, lounging with his feet on his desk, a _Guns and Bullets_ magazine held in both hands.

"Look at you, you gorgeous thing…" he was saying.

"You know, I think I'd feel better if just once, I walked in on you actually looking at porn," Trish said.

The magazine came down low enough for his eyes to look over it at her. "What do I look like? Some pimple-faced loser with the internet and no life?" he raised the magazine again, "Sure, and after I'm done, I'll start writing fan fiction."

"Hey, I've read some good stuff," Trish said as she walked across the room, "It's much more rare, but it does exist."

"I don't know which is worse," Dante said, "The fact you admit to reading fan fiction, or implying that _I_ could write good stuff."

"Yeah, probably not," Trish said, setting the bags down on the desk, and then shoving Dante's feet off to make more room.

"Hey!" Dante complained, nearly rolling out of his chair, but then eyed the bags, "What's all this?"

"Things you've never seen before," Trish said, and started pulling things from the bags, "Lettuce. Potatoes. Apples. Fruits and vegetables. Most people call them food."

Dante groaned. "Oh, I've told you a hundred times, we can just call for a pizza."

"You've had enough pizza for the week," Trish said, "More like the year, actually, but I'll pick my battles more carefully than that."

Dante sighed. "Can we at least do burgers, then?"

"You know, a salad every now and then won't kill you," Trish said, "Besides, I'm going to be doing the cooking, so what is your problem?"

"I am not a rabbit!" Dante declared.

Trish did not have a chance to respond, as the phone rang. She picked up the reciever. "Devil May Cry," she said, and waited a moment, "Sorry, not interested."

"No password," Dante said.

"That's right," she replied, "I think they were trying to sell us security. Some Guardians of the Faith bureau or something."

"Guardians of the Faith?" Dante asked, "What kind of name is that for a security firm?"

The front door of the office suddenly exploded inward as a breaching charge detonated, shattering the front windows and raining glass all around them. Dante was out of his seat and yanked his desk over, creating makeshift cover, as well as dumping all the bags and vegetables in the floor.

"Hey!" Trish complained at this, and Dante only shrugged and replied, "Oops."

"Gas is in!" came a shout from outside, and an object like a can bounced in through the front door, and spewed white smoke.

"Tear gas?" Trish asked, pulling her custom-made pistols from the gun rack, "These guys have no idea what they're in for."

Dante casually strolled over to the rack where Rebellion waited, lifting the sword free and hooking it into the leather strap around the shoulders of his coat. He then walked to the rack where Ebony and Ivory waited, and lifted the twin guns free, checking the clips and flipping the safeties off.

"Go go go!" came a shout from outside.

The side windows shatters and rapellers leaped inside, lifting their rifles and scanning the room, their own faces shielded with gas masks. One found himself unfortunate enough to land directly in front of Dante.

"What's up, doc?" Dante asked, then unloaded a shot into each of the soldier's shoulders, then kicked his knee, snapping the bone and bending it backwards. The soldier collapsed, screaming in agony as Dante stepped over him.

"Fire, fire!" came the shouts as the other three breachers opened their rifles on Dante on full automatic for several seconds. They stopped shooting a few seconds later, Dante's shirt riddled with holes and red with blood.

They watched in horror as Dante leaned his head back, groaning, and a second later, bullets fell to the floor like a rain, forced out of the wounds which, even through the holes in the shirt, could be seen rapidly healing beyond any human ability.

"What the hell is it?!" one of the soldiers screamed.

"Something you are not prepared for," Trish said, materializing from out of the smoke behind one of the soldiers, and she quickly put a shot into each of his knees, toppling him effectively.

"Shit shit shit!" the other soldier screamed, turning and running out the front door.

"Kind of weird," Dante said, walking toward the door, and casually putting a bullet in the knee of the remaining soldier as he did so, "We don't usually get this aggressive of guests of this type."

He stopped short as out in the street, he saw a soldier crouched with a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher aimed toward the door. "Trish, get down!" Dante said, turning from the door.

"Suck on this!" the soldier said as he pushed the trigger, sending the rocket directly into the office.

The jet trail singed Dante's coat as he dove out of the way, the rocket flying past and striking the back wall. The desk shattered, sending wood splinters flying everywhere, and the wall exploded the other direction, into the kitchen and bathroom, drywall and bricks flying over the room.

After the explosion, there was a loud creak in the otherwise heavy silence.

"Oh, boy," Dante muttered, "That was a load-bearing wall."

"Dante," Trish said, looking out the door, where the shooter had been passed another loaded launcher.

"Time to go!" Dante said, "Grab the Force Edge! We can't let anyone have it!"

Trish leaped up, running to the rack and grabbing the oddly fleshlike blade that had once belonged to Dante's father, Sparda. Dante meanwhile grabbed a set of gauntlets that glowed with otherworldly light, and an oddly colored briefcase.

"Let's go, let's go!" Dante hurried her as Trish dashed across the room, and the two of them went out the window as the second rocket flew in through the door.

They were sprinting down the neighboring alley as the explosion died away, only to be followed by the crumbling of the building as it collapsed in on itself.

The alley opened into the street, they were ambushed by two more soldiers. "Gotcha!" one shouted, shoving a tazer into Dante's gut and pulling the trigger. Dante would admit, it was a hell of a lot more voltage than most people can get, but it didn't help when the other man tried to jam some kind of syringe into Dante's chest.

Three broken arms later, Dante and Trish were standing over them and Dante was holding the strange device. It was a needle, with a blue fluid clearly visible in a capsule, though shaped like a gun and with a trigger mechanism. But regardless of the mechanism, they were more interested in what this liquid was, and what it had been supposed to do to Dante.

* * *

"So they actually came for you before me," Nero said.

"That's right," Dante said, and held up the needle device with the liquid, "And I'm guessing this stuff they wanted to put in me is what they injected into you."

"Well, it seems to have run it's course," Trish commented, pulling another bullet from Nero's wounds with a pair of forceps, "You're starting to close up properly. Of course, you don't heal as fast as Dante or me even at the best of times."

It had taken nearly an hour to lose the pursuing police, and they had run the car into a lake before going to another they had prepared and coming here. Nero had no idea a place like this even existed. The best he could describe it was an underground garage, which had several more vehicles waiting, along with several thousand gallons of gasoline for refueling, and further in, a workshop with more tools than Nero had ever seen, along with many he didn't even know the function of. The third room was where they were now, which could be described as a medical or rest area. There were plenty of first aid supplies, six beds, and bathroom utilities in a room to the side.

Trish explained it was a Devil Hunter safe house, and this was one of the bigger, more expensive ones. It was also extremely illegal, and it had to remain secret, so Devil Hunters were very cautious about who they allowed into their actual network, and who had to work through a contact.

Trish had spent the past two hours pulling bullets from Nero while she and Dante explained to Nero about the attack on the Devil May Cry office, and when they tried to contact the other Devil Hunters, found that attacks were occurring all over the world. Hunters that didn't escape or die had to be assumed captured.

The blue glow in Nero's right hand was even slowly beginning to return, though it was still dim at this point. "I'd like to know what that stuff is," Trish said, "It troubles me that someone managed to find or make a toxin that suppresses demonic power."

"And Nero's part human, like me," Dante said, "Trish, if they manage to inject you with this stuff, it might kill you."

"Another reason I'm worried," Trish said, "We've got the tools here to analyze it, but it's an area I'm knowledgeable in."

"Who was that Russian hunter that knew about this stuff, like poisons and serums and so on?" Dante said, "Her name escapes me."

"Tatiana, I think," Trish said, "If she hasn't been captured or killed, we might be able to contact her. All right, kid, looks like that's it. I think I pulled four pounds of lead out of you."

"Well, I do feel better," Nero said, standing up and reaching for his shirt, then holding it up in disgust at the completely ruined piece, more holes in it than fabric.

"There are some clothes in the closet over there," Trish said, pointing, "See if you can find something that fits."

"_Chains and Leather will live forever, the band begins this fight_," came the sound of music from Dante, who fished his phone out his pocket, "_We are rock, play metal in the night-_"

It was cut off as Dante pushed the button and lifted it to his ear. "Devil May Cry," he said, waited a moment, then smiled, "Oh, Lady, I was wondering when I'd hear from you. Listen, you owe me two grand, and I've got witnesses. Yeah? Okay, can you get on a more secure line? Gotcha, we're in safe house twelve. Talk to you in a minute."

"I can't believe that didn't take a bullet," Trish said.

"I left it on the bike while we were inside," Dante said.

"I'm wondering what the hell that ringtone was," Nero said as he sifted through the shirts in the closet.

"Chains and leather, heavy metal, you know?" Dante asked.

"Didn't sound like any metal I've ever heard," Nero said, "Wait, what the hell?"

He pulled a long coat from the closet. It was bright red leather, the shoulders studded with short metal rivets, and had several chains hanging from the chest, under the arms, only to loop back up behind the shoulder and attach again.

"Oh, sweet! I thought I lost that one!" Dante said, jumping up from his seat and nearly sprinting over and taking the coat, "I can't believe it was here the whole time! Looks like it's missing some chains and a few studs from the shoulders, but those are easy to replace…"

Nero glanced at Trish, who shrugged. "Don't look at me," she said, "He's gone through at least a hundred coats in the year I've known him."

"Who'd wear something as ugly as that anyway?" Nero asked, even as Dante slipped off his bullet-riddled coat and was putting his arms into the sleeves of this new one.

"Someone who knows what this," Dante said, pulling the coat tight, then crossing his arms in front of his chest, holding up the index and pinky fingers on each hand, "is really all about."

Nero rolled his eyes, turning back to the closet and selecting a black T-shirt for himself.

"Come on kid, I heard that garbled mess coming out of your headphones when we first met," Dante said.

"Well, yeah, I know metal, and that is not metal," Nero said, and pulled the shirt on over his head.

"Oh, no, you poor deprived child," Dante said, "Come on, it has to spark something: _Chains and Leather will live forever, the band begins this fight. We are rock, play metal in the night, the message from Hell and despair. Even Satan wears leather, our souls will live forever, so let us praise our roots tonight!_"

He stopped singing, looking hopefully at Nero, who just shook his head, look completely incredulous.

"Oh, wow," Dante said, and turned to Trish, "Everything else goes on hold while we reeducate! I'm going to need Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Judas Priest, and Running Wild CDs right now!"

"They're all back in the office," Trish said.

"Oh no!" Dante said, putting his face in hands, "All my vinyls! You can't replace those anymore!"

"Why is this so important to you?" Nero asked.

"Because," Dante said dramatically, "People say all the time that metal is dead. But the fact is, it is not dead so long as there are still good bands out there. The problem is there are far more godawful bands than good ones these days. Metal isn't dead, but they're trying damn hard to kill it! And so long as there is breath left in me, I won't allow that to happen! Even if you are the only person I ever show the real meaning to, you will learn there is so much more to metal than being loud and obnoxious."

There was a beeping from a nearby computer screen on the wall. "Oh, sorry, real life and something important are calling," Trish said, walking over to the screen and pressing the receive key.

"What the hell are you doing in Paris?!" was the first thing Lady said when her face appeared on the screen.

"Hello to you too," Trish said.

"Sorry, we had to rescue a certain punk kid," Dante said, "Unfortunately, none of the other disappeared hunters were in the building."

"We've already sent word on the network to watch these guys," Trish said, they've got bases in quite a few major cities. Paris, New York, Moscow, Tokyo, all over the damn place."

"I know, I was just on the receiving end of visit by them in New York," Lady said, "I got away, and so did Sirius, but Michael is missing. We can't find a body, so we're assuming he was captured."

"Michael? Sirius?" Nero asked, looking at Dante.

"Couple of Devil Hunters based out of New York," Dante said, "Lady was working with them on a job recently."

"About that," Lady said, "Things went to shit when those damn mercs showed up, and the target escaped. We're sure he's still in New York, so I'm going to stay here a while longer, but we need to decide what we're going to do about these assholes."

Even as she spoke, Nero was rather taken aback by the image on the screen. He'd never met Lady before, only heard the name. She was a surprising vision of beauty, even with the grayed hair and visible crow's feet.

"The Devil May Cry office was leveled," Trish said, "I've no doubt they're fishing for the Devil Arms we weren't able to save, but we did retrieve the Force Edge and Pandora."

"The two most important ones," Lady said, "They're taking Devil Arms from other hunters as well. Sirius said he's going to try to hack their systems and find out what they're up to."

"Just spread the word to other hunters, without the Devil May Cry office, there's a good chance the other safe houses in Los Angeles were compromised as well," Trish said.

"Well, as far as I can tell, for each one of us they've gotten, at least two have escaped," Lady said, "Whatever these assholes want with the Devil Hunters, they haven't broken us yet, and we're going to come back on them hard."

"Good, I can't wait," Nero said.

"Is this that kid you were talking about, Dante?" Lady asked, "The one with Yamato?"

"That's right," Dante said, "He's a hybrid, like me."

"Then he'll be able to do some real damage," Lady said, "All right, you guys stay put for now. Like it or not, you're our trump cards against these guys. I'll contact you tomorrow, and hopefully know more by then."

"Watch yourself," Dante said, "I'm not sure what actually caused it, but a C-class demon showed up during our getaway. I killed it, but the fact it was there at all bothers me."

"C-class… Unintelligent?" Lady asked.

"Seemed so," Dante said, "And I force-fed it a motorcycle, so you owe me two grand. You better not die before I collect it."

"I'll call you tomorrow," Lady said, obviously ignoring the comment.

"See you then," Dante said, and the screen switched off.

"So that was Lady, huh?" Nero asked as Dante and Trish turned away from the screen, moving back to the seats, "She's a lot more attractive than I expected."

"Oh, you should have seen her while she was still a brunette," Dante said, sitting down, "She went gray early for some reason. Maybe runs in her family, or maybe she saw God, I don't know. But even now, excluding the fact she never had children, she is definitely prime milf material."

"And I'm locked in the building with this," Trish said with a sigh.

"She seems a lot more pissed about this than you two," Nero said.

"Lady isn't as forgiving as Dante or I can be," Trish said.

"She's a good person, just don't piss her off," Dante said.

"What about Kyrie?" Nero asked, "What are we going to do about her?"

"We can't do anything until we know where she is," Dante said.

"They weren't holding her with you," Trish said, "It would be rather idiotic to hold your leverage with the one you were trying to leverage. Safest bet is she is in the same place they're taking the other hunters. And if they think they can get anything from you, I have no doubt they'll try to ransom her, either for you or for information. She'll turn up, and we'll get her back, I promise that."

Nero growled. He hated feeling this powerless, that was for certain. But then his stomach growled loudly, reminding him how long it had been since he'd eaten. "So what's kept to eat in a place like this?" he asked.

"There's long stretches nobody is here," Trish said, "Can't keep anything perishable. There's probably some jerky, maybe a few Twinkies."

"Well, that settles it," Dante said, picking up his phone, "Time to find out what French pizza is like."

* * *

The phone rang in the middle of the night, in a decrepit gutter apartment. Barely furnished, filthy rooms, and likely the roaches paying part of the rent. It was the kind of place no person with any means wanted to find themselves.

The sole occupant rolled over in the bed, picking up the phone on the nightstand.

"Talk," she said into the receiver.

"Codename Lucifer," said a man's voice on the other end, "We're activating red protocol. The list of targets has been sent to your terminal."

The man on the other end hung up. The woman put the phone down, sitting up in the bed and stretching out the stiffness of sleep.

Red protocol meant she was to kill every single name on the list waiting for her. It had never been activated before. She walked to the chest of drawers across the room, throwing her nightie in the corner, and opening one of the drawers. From it she took a small tablet computer, hidden under her clothes, and switched it own. While waiting for it to boot, she selected underwear and a pair of jeans from the drawers.

A moment later, the tablet dinged, and opened the recently received file. She lite a cigarette as she scrolled down the list of names. Each had an address where they could be found and a photo for identification. Most were people she'd never heard of, though some she knew. It didn't matter. In the end there was nothing truly challenging about any of the marks, only the sheer number of them.

She scrolled down to the last name, and suddenly stopped. The name was "Dante," and the photo showed her a white-haired man with a cocky half-smile, and the pommel of a large sword visible over one shoulder. Current location was unknown, but special details listed his recent escape from Guardian forces, and an order to terminate with extreme prejudice.

She smiled to herself, and blew smoke from her cigarette at the screen. "Finally," she said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Shootout in the Streets**

"Answer me one question," Nero said, sitting down with a slice of pizza, "If the Devil Hunters are so organized, and there's so many of them, what is the deal with you two? I mean, I thought you were alone when I met you."

"We were," Trish said, seated across from him, and fighting with the stringy cheese of her slice, "I can't even claim to be the utmost authority, since I've only been in this business for about a year now. Dante, on the other hand, has been doing this for the past two decades, and yet tends to stay out of the larger organization."

"It's because most Devil Hunters are normal people," Dante said, "Everyone tends to be on their own, but the network exists so they can call for help when they need it. Most confine themselves to their local areas. I'm more freelance than that, and usually when I get a call from someone with demon troubles, they've sought me out specifically because of my particular circumstances."

"And when another Hunter calls us for help, things have usually already hit the fan by then," Trish said, "But until I came along, there wasn't even a computer in the Devil May Cry office to help with keeping contact."

"I never needed one before," Dante said.

"And you put your foot through the first one I bought because you couldn't figure out the ethernet cable was unplugged," Trish said, and turned back to Nero, "He's not allowed to touch anything more complex than a television at this point, because of his technological ineptitude."

"I'm not surprised," Nero said.

"Anyway, the Hunter network was actually in place long before I came along," Trish said, "Lady and a few others set up the basics back in '89 if I remember correctly, and it's been building up every since. And all the information I've seen shows both efficiency and survival rate of Hunters has gone up considerably since."

"So how does someone join the Devil Hunters?" Nero asked.

"Why, you thinking about change in career?" Dante responded.

"I'm just curious," Nero said.

"Well, you don't fill out an application," Dante said, "The Hunters tend to find you. You see, every hunter in the world has a sad story involving demons. They lost family, whether parents, spouse, or kids, or all of the above, and they're looking for payback, and if they're lucky, the Hunters find them first to lend a hand and recruit. I lost my brother twenty years ago, and my mother a little before that. But I already put the smack down on the guy responsible, and freed my brother's soul in the process, so I can hardly claim to have the most tragic background around."

"What about your father?" Nero asked.

"Sparda?" Dante asked, "You probably know as much as I do, kid. He disappeared when I was young. Nobody knows what happened to him. All I know is my brother found his sword, that one there," Dante paused, pointing at the enormous curved blade leaning against the nearby wall, "and when that played out, I ended up with it."

"Oh, wow," Nero said, "I knew that was a powerful Devil Arm, but I never realized it was Sparda's weapon."

Trish finished her slice of pizza and was licking the grease off her fingers when Nero turned back to her. "Oh, me?" she asked, "Mine's actually a lot simpler. I was created by Mundus, the demon Dante was after, and Dante saved my life and set me free. I've been with him ever since."

"Wait," Nero said, realization shooting across his face, indicating he'd never thought of the possibility, "That means you're not human!"

Dante laughed, leaning forward for another slice of pizza. Trish just smiled. "That's right, I'm one hundred percent home-grown devil," she said.

"Now kid, don't get excited," Dante said when Nero started to stand up, "Remember that my dad, Sparda, was a demon, too."

"Yeah," Nero said, sitting back down, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry, Trish. You've obviously never given me reason to not trust you."

"You'll have to try harder than that to offend me," Trish said, and pointed a thumb at Dante, "Remember, I'm around _that_ nearly every day."

"All right, so how long are we going to be sitting here?" Nero asked, "I don't want to leave Kyrie in those bastards' hands one instant longer than necessary."

"We'd best keep a low profile for now," Trish said, "The fact these guys have a serum that can suppress your demonic powers makes them extremely dangerous, even if they are normal humans. Besides that, we need to find out where the hell that demon came from. Easy as it went down, it worries me that it conveniently showed up as we were escaping. For the moment, we'd best just stay here and wait for Lady to contact us before deciding on our next move."

Nero growled. "I don't like sitting here waiting for something to happen," he said.

"You need to learn to relax kid," Dante said, "Remember: Always put off till tomorrow what you can do today. Wait a minute, that's not right…"

* * *

About thirty-six hours earlier in New York City, Lady had been busy, answering a request for assistance from a local Devil Hunter named Michael. What he had told her was that it wasn't actually demons, at least not yet, but he'd received a tip that an underground cult was going to attempt to open a Hellgate in the city. Knowing how dangerous demon-worshipping cults could be, Lady had sent word to another available Hunter before getting a place to New York.

Michael hadn't waited for Lady to arrive, continuing his investigation. Spreading a bit money around got him word of people with strange tattoos buying weapons from black market dealers. Pretty high end stuff, too. There were quite a few ways to open Hellgates, and while certainly the least elegant, random violence would do the job if it were bloody enough, and in a city as overpopulated as this, the possibility wasn't hard to imagine.

Michael often thought of the disparity of how he thought now compared to six years ago, when he lost his wife and unborn child to a demonic attack caused by such a cult. He'd never believed such demons existed, and would have laughed if someone told him as much. But after living that kind of nightmare, he understood far better why that was. People didn't want to believe in such things, that such terrible monsters actually existed. Every such event was pretty much hidden in the news, as they were explained away for a number of reasons. Earthquakes, gas explosions, even serial murderers were society's unintentional cover-ups for demon attacks. It was always explained away. If someone actually tried to tell the truth, they ended up in an insane asylum faster than they could spit.

Michael had started down this path as a means of revenge, to avenge his family, but now continued simply because he knew if he stopped, then the next time a demon took someone's loved ones, it may have been something he could have prevented. He wondered how many Hunters eventually lost sight of the real goal, to protect humanity, losing themselves in their hatred for the demons.

Yet even as he swore he'd never let himself go like that, to forget why he was fighting these monsters, it pained him every time he turned down a darker path of deceit to achieve the goal, and now, as he entered the condemned apartment building, simply knowing he was about to commit violence against his fellow man for that purpose.

Michael freed his pistol from the shoulder holster under his jacket, switching the safety off and pulling back the slide to chamber the first round. The contact had given him a room number on the second floor, though the building itself was long since empty. He just hoped any squatters would have the sense to stay out of the way.

When he reached the apartment in question, he paused, leaning close to the door. Sure enough, he heard voices. He took a moment to collect himself, and reached inside of his shirt, pulling out the one extra adornment he carried. It was a steel crucifix on a chain around his neck, about the size of his index finger. He silently kissed it, and silently prayed, _Lord forgive me for what I now do._

He tucked the chain back under his shirt, and knocked on the door. The voices inside when silent. "Who is it?" someone demanded a second later.

Putting on his best gravel, Michael replied, "It's me. I got the stuff."

He had no idea if the ruse would work. But a moment later he heard footsteps, and the lock clicked, the knob turning.

Michael was in the room instantly, slamming the door right into the face of the man opening it, knocking him to the floor. "Don't move!" Michael shouted as two other figures dove for cover.

"Fuck you, cop!" shouted another man, popping out from behind the counter in the kitchen area.

Michael dove forward, moving behind the destroyed couch as the man opened fire with his MP5 SMG. Michael moved quickly as the couch did nothing to stop the rounds, diving out past its side and lining up the shot. He squeezed the trigger twice, and was rewarded with cries of pain as both rounds sank into the gunner's right shoulder, and thescream of the machine gun stopping as he collapsed behind the counter.

The sound of a shotgun mechanism caused Michael to look up, to his right, and there was the other that had run for cover, aiming it his direction. He quickly rolled back behind the couch as the explosive sound of the shot went off, blasting the top corner of the couch completely off, raining on the floor as splinters and fluff.

It was almost too easy, fighting these people after facing demons for the past six years. But these grunts might be able to take him to their leader, so he couldn't kill them. Michael was up and running, using his free hand to reach under his jacket and drew a forearm length knife from its hidden sheathe, and before the shooter had even finished ejecting the spent shell from the shotgun, hurled it across the room. The blade pierced the man's shoulder with enough force to punch out his back and into the wall behind him, effectively nailing him to the woodwork. He dropped the gun as he cried out, grabbing at the exposed part of the blade, only to scream louder as the razor edge sliced his fingers, three of them falling to the floor, cut completely off at the second knuckle and blood fountaining from his hand.

The man in the kitchen was climbing back up, holding his SMG as he rose over the counter, only to find Michael's pistol inches from his face.

"Drop it," Michael commanded.

With a growl, the man tried to swing the weapon up. Michael caught his arm long before it actually endangered him, and quickly turned his pistol, and shot off three rounds into the man's arm, one in the bicep, one in the elbow, and one just above the wrist. The gun fell as the man screamed in agony.

Michael kicked the gun away, glancing back to check the one he'd knocked out with the door. It was actually a woman, and she still lay sprawled on the floor. The other shooter, pinned to the wall, had stopped screaming and seemed to have lost conciousness. Likely from the pain and shock, since he shouldn't have lost that much blood yet.

There was a large box at the other end of the kitchen counter, so Michael shoved the man down and moved over where he could see inside the open top. He let out a low whistle. "A rocket launcher," he said appreciatively, "Very nice."

It was weapon mounted on a pivoting base, which would be aimed and fired remotely. If these weren't the guys he was looking for, he'd stumbled onto a serious case anyway. But where he was standing, he was behind the man on the floor, who was clutching his ruined arm, maybe wondering if he was about to die. On the back of the man's neck was the sign Michael was looking for, a black tattoo of a burning star. No, these were the right people.

"All right, let's make this simple," he said, putting his gun barrel against the back of the man's head, "Let's make this simple. Tell me where your boss is and I won't paint this room with even more of your blood."

"Go to hell," the man said, "I ain't telling you shit!"

"Okay, we'll do it that way," Michael said, shifting his gun and puling the trigger, the bullet striking into the man's leg, just above the ankle, causing another cry of agony, "Want to talk yet? I've got plenty of extra clips."

"Doesn't matter what you do," the man growled, "You're not leaving this room alive."

"You're not in much of a position to-" Michael started, then turned at movement in the corner of his eye.

The woman from the door had suddenly rose up over the wreckage of the cough, the SMG Michael had kicked away aimed directly at him. "Die, you heathen scum!" she shouted as she pulled the trigger.

Michael dove behind the counter, but the gunshot was wrong, only a single round fired, and with the sound of a much heavier caliber than the SMG, and it was followed by the sound of a woman screaming. He peeked over the counter in time to see she had her back to him now as a second shot exploded over the scream, striking the woman in the chest and sending her staggering back, falling over the couch and rolling to the side. She could barely move for the pain, and was trying to crawl away as two more shots fired in rapid succession, both striking her in the head and sending blood flying as chips of bone and brain matter splattered across the floor.

_Two body shots to disable, two headshots to kill_, Michael thought, _Textbook stuff. The kind of thing that comes from a real pro. And a hardened killer._

He slowly peeked up over the counter again. A woman was standing in the doorway, clad in full body bike leathers, and her face hidden by the visor of a dark tinted helmet, with a smoking .45 pistol in her hand.

"Don't look so surprised, I'm the help you called for," Lady said, pulling the helmet off with her free hand and throwing it on the floor, "Who calls for help and then comes to something like this on their own?"

"Didn't want to waste time," Michael said, "Now that you're here, you can help with the interrogation."

He turned back to the man on the floor, grabbing his shirt and hauling him up to a standing position and shoving his gun up under the man's chin. "Last chance," he said, "Where is your boss?"

"God, you're still so green," Lady said, moving over to them, shoving her pistol into her hip holster, and grabbed the man by his shirt. Michael released his grip as Lady spun the man around and nearly threw him, causing him to fall to a sitting position on the couch. "Now watch carefully," Lady said to Michael, "_This _is how you intimidate someone."

It took her just seconds, and the man became much more talkative. "I don't know where he is," he was saying, "Just that he's in the city. We were gathering a lot of explosives and other weapons for a big event. He said it was going to open a Hellgate right in the city, even without an obelisk. That's all I know, honestly!"

"Doesn't tell us much," Lady said, using her knife to clean under her fingernails, and then pointed it at him again.

"He was coming in today!" the man said hurridly, "From the airport! Said he could be in any kind of vehicle, because he was going to steal one from the parking lot!"

"A stolen vehicle in New York," Michael said, "That's still not much to go on."

"I can give you the address where we were supposed to meet up!" the man said almost pleadingly.

"That's better," Lady said, then glanced at Michael, "You have a pen?"

A few minutes later, they had the address, and after tying up the victim and the unconscious bleeder, the two left the building, and a quick call to the police would have them on the scene soon. The police would no doubt think the scene was just the result of some vigilante mayhem, and the two of them knew how to cover their tracks. But they had an address and a time the meeting was supposed to happen.

* * *

"So what do you know about what these people are doing?" Lady asked.

She and Michael now stood in the shade of a canopy outside a fast-food restaurant, watching the street. The problem was in a city this busy, the street was packed with people and vehicles, meaning finding their prey, especially when they didn't know what he actually looked like. Along the way, they had met up with the other Devil Hunter Lady had called, a man named Sirius, who was seated in the back of a van down the street, with a terminal wirelessly tapped into the police records, and every so often, they'd give him a license plate number to check, though so far it had turned up nothing. The one hope was that when their quarry arrived, it would be in the stolen vehicle, and thus they could identify it.

"Opening a Hellgate is pretty much all I know," Michael said, "As for why, couldn't tell you. They're crazy, they're fanatics, or both, I couldn't tell you, but I think it's run of the mill stuff."

"I hate it when we have to deal with humans," Lady said, "Killing demons is clean. They just leave ash or dust, or a Devil Arm. Killing humans is messy. Leaves too much evidence."

"I know, but I just tell myself, prevention is better than cleanup," Michael said, "Hmm. What about that truck?"

He rattled the numbers off, his earpiece picking them up easily, and in the van, Sirius looked them up. "That's the ninetieth check we've run," came Sirius' response, "and there's absolutely nothing suspicious about it."

"Well, unless that guy was a liar, we should get something sooner or later," Michael said.

"Sure hope so, cause this is gettin' real boring," Sirius said.

At least they didn't stand out much here, Lady thought. Her riding leathers weren't that uncommon of a sight in the city, and Michael was dressed conservatively, in a brown bomber jacket with a white shirt and blue jeans. Sirius would have stood out in the crowd in comparison, mainly because of all the tribal tattoos all over his arms and face. But then again, such a large black man with a Hispanic accent was the part that really made him stand out in this country.

"Keep your eyes open," Lady said, "I'm going to go inside and get some burgers. You want one, Sirius?"

"I don't eat that garbage," Sirius replied in her ear.

"Says the man that eats bugs for months at a time," Michael said.

"They're better for you than those fatty cows," Sirius said.

The line inside the restaurant was long, and Lady kept glancing back out the window to see Michael still watching the street, leaning back against the window as though he were simply loitering. She could here him give Sirius more numbers through her earpiece, so just tried to relax. She hoped to have this mess resolved today, so she could get moving on other jobs, but if this stakeout didn't work, that might not happen, and she'd just have to pass some of the work on to other Hunters. Such jobs didn't keep forever.

"Excuse me, miss," said a man behind her. She turned, glancing at him. He was an older Asian man, with white hair and deep lines on his face, dressed in a rather impressive business suit. He looked out of place here, that was for certain. His English was a perfect American accent, though, so he likely wasn't actually a foreigner.

"You're the Hunter they call Lady, aren't you?" he asked.

"Do I know you?" she asked cautiously.

"No, but I know a great deal about you," he said, "Pardon me, my name is Keichi Takeda. No relation to the famous Takedas of ancient history, mind you. I was informed you were in New York, and I felt I should meet you face to face. If you have a moment, would you mind speaking to me over here, where it's more private?"

The old man was hardly a physical threat, unless he was a demon in disguise, of course. Lady wondered how he knew who she was, though, since she had never seen him before. Maybe a client of another Hunter at some point? "All right," she said, "Five minutes."

She sat with him in a corner booth. Takeda leaned his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together as he spoke. "You obviously want to know how I know you," he said, "I did have an encounter with a Devil Hunter some years ago, in Japan. She saved my life in fact. Back then I was the head of research and development for a rather prolific robotics company. After that, I'm afraid that building robots to disarm bombs and the like simply wasn't good enough, knowing what is out there in the world."

"So you know what the Devil Hunters are," Lady said, "Most clients prefer to try to forget after dealing with us."

"Well, I was pushing to be able to work on different kinds of projects after that," Takeda said, "My employers weren't eager to listen. The patents on my designs are still collecting royalties to this day. Simply put, I had enough money to come to America, the country where the kind of money I have can turn away any sort of inspection, and I am able to develop the devices I've wanted to for some years now.

"Think of me as a weapon manufacturer. After my previous encounter with demons and Devil Hunters, I didn't want to spend what years I have left making toys. And I want to help your cause, to arm the Devil Hunters to fight the monsters that you do with weapons like you have never seen. I have a private estate in Pennsylvania where my facility is located. You are rather prolific and I assume high ranking among the Devil Hunters, which is why I want to invite you to come see what I have to offer."

Oh, god, he was a businessman. In a lot of ways, that was worse than a demon. "The Devil Hunters each have their own suppliers," Lady said, "I cannot speak for them all as if we were a group. We work together for a common cause, but we're not such an organized force."

"I don't think that matters in the grand scheme," Takeda said, "I promise, when you see what I have to offer, you will be able to readily recommend it to your colleagues."

"I'll consider paying you a visit," Lady said, rising to her feet, "But I have work to do right now."

"Of course," Takeda said, "I wouldn't want to keep you from your tasks. That would defeat my purpose. But here, my card. You'll find my number on it when you are ready to talk."

Lady took the card and stuck it in her pocket as she turned to walk away. She felt the old man's eyes on her back all the way to the door. She stepped outside as Michael gave Sirius the numbers of a plate on a utility van on the other side of the street.

"So where's the burgers?" Michael asked.

"Oh, crap, I forgot," Lady said, turning to go back in.

"We got a hit," Sirius said in their ears, "The van checks out as being stolen from the airport parking garage late last night."

"Forget the burgers, that has to be our guy," Lady said, moving to her bike and climbing on. Michael mounted his own, and both engines started, and they quickly put on their helmets as the van started to pull away. They pulled out into the street to follow.

Inside the van were five men, the most significant being Geralt Kellvone, a man in his mid-thirties and dressed in an almost casual outfit of a white shirt and khaki pants. Other than the driver's seat, the utility van was very open, though filled with boxes of weaponry and explosives.

"Hey boss, we got someone tailing us," one of the other men said, looking out the back window of the van, as the bikes followed them through the past three turns.

Kellvone looked out the back. "Three guys don't show up, and now we have a tail," he muttered, "Either those two are cops, or…"

"Or what?" one others asked.

"Or something much worse," Kellvone said, and turned to the driver, "Lose 'em!"

The driver shook his head, but pushed the pedal down, accelerating as fast as the van could manage. The road ahead was technically a side street and blessedly free of traffic.

"Well, that confirms they up to something," Michael said as he and Lady accelerated to pursue.

"Trying to run in a van like that, they'll turn it over at the first corner they try to make," Lady said.

"People could get hurt," Michael said, "I'm going to try to get close enough to shoot the tires and end this quickly."

He cranked the gas, moving up past Lady and drawing his pistol with one hand.

"We're not cops, dammit!" Lady said, "This is going to draw attention!"

"I don't care," Michael said, lifting his gun and taking aim.

Before he could shoot, the back door of the van opened, and one of the men inside kneeling in the opening, aiming a rifle toward him.

"That's an AK," Michael said, identifying the weapon immediately, then said louder, "Oh, shit, that's an AK!"

He swerved sideways as bullets whizzed past, nearly topping his bike in the process. "Lady, can you get ahead of them?" he shouted.

"Already on it," Lady said, "I'll pull off here and circle back. That van can't outrun us. Don't get shot."

Too late as the second burst of the rifle went off, and in spite of his effort to keep out of the way, Michael growled in pain as a bullet struck his left arm, piercing straight through the tissue and out the other side, mercifully missing the bone.

"Damn you," Michael growled, setting the cruise control and passing his gun to his right hand, lifting it and firing several shots at the shooter. The shooter quickly ducked inside, behind the metal of the closed door. Taking the opportunity, Michael aimed again for one of the tires and squeezed off two shots, though neither connected, only sending flakes of asphalt flying into the air.

"The police radio is lighting up," Sirius' voice said in his ear, "You two better hurry before you've got blues to deal with too."

"Forget the tires, Michael, I'm going for the driver!" Lady said, and he saw her pull back out onto the road alongside the van.

Inside the van, Kellvone grabbed another AK-47 from the weapon crate and loaded a clip. "Boss! Somebody's coming up in my mirror!"

Kellvone moved to the front of the van. Lady pulled up on the driver's side, aiming the deadly .45 in the window, only to see the barrel of the assault rifle pointing her way. She snapped the handbrake as he fired, the glass window shattering and glass raining on the street even as her quick thinking saved her life, but also sent her back behind the van again, though still ahead of Michael.

"Give me one of those!" Kellvone said, pointing at the unopened box of RPGs.

"We've got to end this," Michael said, pulling up alongside Lady.

"I guess we get the tires," Lady said, aiming for the left side tire.

The other back door of the van opened, and they suddenly found a rocket-propelled grenade pointed their direction. And then it was coming toward them, launched from the back of the van. They swerved either direction, but the rocket struck the pavement between them, and was too close, as both bikes and riders were sent flying into the air. Screams and curses were all that came from them as they came back down, riders hitting the pavement hard, rolling and painful blows all across their bodies as the bikes tumbled and crashed across the ground. Lady had taken quite a few falls in her life, and she knew how to do it, or at least how to land, and she twisted herself to roll sideways and minimize the impacts as much as possible.

"That did it," Kellvone said triumphantly, "Let's get out of here before the cops show up."

The others pulled the doors shut, and the van was speeding away. When the world stopped spinning, Lady was surprised she was still drawing breath. Her helmet was cracked and loose on her head, causing her to take it off, throwing it to the side. Everything was still attached, and other than the outer layer of her riding leathers being shredded, she somehow came through the tumble with nothing worse than a few bruises.

"Lady, can you keep going?" Michael asked.

"Yeah," she said, "Are you all right?"

"I… I can't move," Michael said, "And I can't feel my legs at all."

"Oh, God, you're paralyzed," Lady said, looking over at where he lay. His fall had been just as bad as hers, and he hadn't been nearly as lucky. His clothing was shredded, and there was a lot of blood and road-burn on his visible skin.

"Just get your bike if it'll still run," Michael said, "Don't let them get away."

"Sirius, Michael needs an ambulance," Lady said, standing up and moving to her bike. She looked up and gave him the address. "Go with him to the hospital. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"You sure you don't want me to follow you?" Sirius asked.

"I'll be fine," Lady said, "Just take care of him."

"Got it."

Lady started the bike, and other than a slight clatter, it still somehow ran, and raced after the van. Unfortunately, it had seemingly vanished from the street. The few minutes they had lost had given them the chance they needed to escape. She rapidly grew incredibly frustrated, and soon turned back. They'd have to go back to Michael's contacts to see if they could find the cult again.

"Lady, don't go back to the crash," Sirius' voice suddenly said in her ear.

"Did the ambulance get there already?" she asked.

"Yes, but that's not the problem," Sirius said, "Michael has disappeared. He's missing."

"What?" Lady said, "He couldn't move! What do you mean he's missing?!"

"I mean in the twenty minutes it took the ambulance an myself to get there, he's vanished," Sirius said, "And the real kicker is the bike and all the blood and broken glass are gone too. Whoever did it disguised the bazooka impact point as roadworks. Not the best cover, but it's hard to fill in a crater like that on short notice. To do all this so quickly is rather impressive."

"Who the hell was watching us and had the resources to do that?" Lady asked.

"Don't know, but the cops are showing up, and I need to make myself scarce," Sirius said.

"Let's meet at the safe house," Lady said, "If we can't find Michael soon, I'm going to call in a big gun to help get to the bottom of this."

Already moving away from the city into the countryside were several vehicles, all black in color, three cars and a van. Each vehicle was occupied by heavily armed bodyguards, and seated in the van,looking back over the seat was the old man, Keichi Takeda. He smiled to himself at the unexpected cargo and opportunity as he looked down at Michael, laid on a soft cushion and dressed up best as possible, with an oxygen mask and morphine drip both running. Michael was unconscious, but alive, for now.

Before the day was out, the news would spread into the Devil Hunter's information network of the attacks on other Hunters all around the world, and Lady would contact Dante in Paris.


End file.
